


marsanne

by worthageatrois (palisadespalisades)



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, andrew is hot and steven doesn't know about gay people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palisadespalisades/pseuds/worthageatrois
Summary: It was all a little surreal, everything about it — driving through the Australian countryside as the dusk settled in, the road slipping away the further they rolled down it. The warmth in his stomach was radiating in waves, his fingertips tingling, heartbeat thrumming in his throat and at his wrists. His face was warm and he knew, from pawing the footage from the night, a little red. They were in a van; it was a spacious van, a roomy one, but not quite roomy enough for three grown men. And his leg was pressed against Andrew’s.No, not quite.His thigh was pressed against Andrew’s thigh. And, buzzed like this, his limbs were long and loose and he was having a hard time assembling them in his personal space and — his hand had accidentally landed on Andrew’s thigh. He might have squeezed.





	marsanne

**Author's Note:**

> something that started as a little drabble and spiralled into something completely over the top. getting together, steven "internalized homophobia" lim, andrew "casually bisexual/great thighs" ilnyckj, too much wine, a little making out.
> 
> this is my first time writing for buzzfeed so be gentle.
> 
> obviously andrew and steven aren't my creations; consider these fictionalized versions of the real people. written with nothing but love and respect.

It started when Steven was drunk on thousand-dollar wine.

That’s just where his life was, he supposed.

It was all a little surreal, everything about it — driving through the Australian countryside as the dusk settled in, the road slipping away the further they rolled down it. The warmth in his stomach was radiating in waves, his fingertips tingling, heartbeat thrumming in his throat and at his wrists. His face was warm and he knew, from pawing the footage from the night, a little red. They were in a van; it was a spacious van, a roomy one, but not quite roomy enough for three grown men. And his leg was pressed against Andrew’s.

No, not quite.

His thigh was pressed against Andrew’s thigh. And, buzzed like this, his limbs were long and loose and he was having a hard time assembling them in his personal space and — his hand had accidentally landed on Andrew’s thigh. He might have squeezed.

It was an accident. That’s what he said, when he pulled his hand back with a yelp. Andrew wasn’t ever as loud as Steven, subdued smirks and even, dry quips and this was no different. Steven came uncomfortably close to a shriek, and Andrew just snorted.

“Sorry, sorry! — Gosh, uh, shoot. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you absolute lightweight.”

“Hey, I’m not —”

“You are, or you just groped me. Your pick.”

Steven settled back into his seat, eyes darting from Andrew to the window to Andrew to Andrew’s  _ thighs _ to the window again. His eyes couldn’t settle, and the tingles in his limbs seemed to turn to fire. Andrew wasn’t having the same issue. His limbs felt like sauna rocks next to him, heavy and hot. His gaze held steady on Steven, and he could hear him thinking, though he couldn’t tell what was running through his mind. He barely knew what he himself was thinking — if he did at all, which was becoming more and more doubtful as each minute passed.

It didn’t mean anything. It was an accident. Andrew just had… a nice thigh. And it was weird to even think that, in ways Steven couldn’t begin to articulate — it was just  _ true _ , and he didn’t want to think any more about it, though the monkey part of his brain was disagreeing vocally. It was just… soft. But it was also firm, and strong. Andrew rock climbed, and Steven could tell. Andrew could probably crush his head like a tea-egg, based on one brief grope.

He wished his brain would stop.

Adam was asleep. Steven could hear him snoring quietly, from the other side of the car. There was only fifteen minutes left of the car-ride, maybe. Steven wanted the ride to end immediately. At the same time, he absolutely reviled the idea of moving. Sliding away from Andrew’s warm thigh, pressed against his, sounded impossible. Making him do it would be almost criminal. More buzzed that he was willing to admit he was but less buzzed than he needed to be to be thinking like this, a part of Steven didn’t want to  _ ever _ peel himself from Andrew’s side. It was a scary thought.

He didn’t like how quiet the car had gotten — the energy was a little to tense for his tastes, a little too fraught, and maybe that was his fault. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Hey,” Andrew said, turning to him. Steven started, but cocked his head — he couldn’t get his tongue unstuck, so he hoped Andrew would understand that meant ‘yeah?’. He figured he’d be able to. They’d spent so much time together, over the past few seasons of Worth It, that sometimes, he felt like they could read each other’s minds. And Andrew was kind of proving him right. “I missed a great pun opportunity.”

“Tonight?”

“No, when we were in New York. For the cheesecake episode.”

“God. Ugh. What was it?”

“When we cheers’d… I could’ve said  _ cheers- _ cake. And I didn’t. And that’s going to haunt me.”

“If you had said it, I’d probably have had to kick you off the show.”

“You would’ve loved it.”

Steven snorted instead of responding — Andrew was right; he would’ve. Though, at times, he was loathe to admit, he’d grown to love a lot of the stupid, little things Andrew did.

After that, they settled back into silence, but it didn’t feel nearly as tense. As much as Steven accused Andrew of being broody sometimes, he did know how to lighten a mood — cut the tension in the room, and he knew how to do it right when Steven needed it. It didn’t change the fact that his thigh was pressed against Steven’s, or that he couldn’t stop thinking about their legs pressed together, hips knocking with every turn the van took, arms bumping into each other, ribbing each other and tangling — but he was breathing a little easier, and that was a relief.

They arrived at the hotel without incident, shouldering Adam awake and helping him stumble up to his room, equipment slung over his shoulders, shoulders slumped against Andrew. Steven felt his stomach roll with something that came closest to jealousy, but had to be something else. He felt cold, standing in the hallway, swaying slightly, waiting for Andrew to slip out of Adam’s room, shutting the door behind him.

They didn’t have to share a room; the budget allowed for separate ones. They had connecting ones, though, and since Andrew’s door was beside Adam’s, they piled in the same one.

“Want to stay for a drink?” Andrew asked, and Steven swallowed. Part of him wanted to say no. A bigger part of him wanted to say yes. The biggest part of his rational mind screamed at the top of his lungs to head to bed.

His monkey brain was bigger than that. So he stayed.

Andrew had bought a bottle of the Ladies Who Shoot Their Lunch — and two of the Marsanne. He uncorked a bottle of the Marsanne.

“You just drank thousand-dollar wine, are you sure you’re okay slumming it for a while?”

“Hey — you were drinking the same wine too!”

“You were the fancyboy, Steven.”

“I have very specifically said I’m not a fancyboy. I remember being  _ very specific _ . And I’d love a glass. Thank you for offering. Please don’t let me get too drunk.”

“I’ll do my best, but that’s running on the assumption that I’m not blasted.”

“Are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Steven knew that meant he was at least a little tipsy; Andrew had a higher tolerance than he did, being more of a regular drinker than he was, but he was loose-limbed and grinning so easily that he had to be. Steven liked him like this.

If he thought about it, though, Andrew had warmed up to him quite a bit — he was much more easy-going than he had been at the start of their friendship, less unenthused, less tightly-wound, readier to crack jokes and make a fool of himself and have fun with Steven than he ever had before. It was a nice change.

And then Andrew bent to get the plastic water glasses from the mini-bar, and Steven’s mouth went dry. The room was dimly lit, and cast shadows over Andrew’s figure, but he could still see the curve of his thighs under the denim, tightening as he moved. He palmed at his own legs, thin even in the tightest jeans he could find, lanky and awkward. There was a beauty to Andrew’s body that Steven had never let himself consider before. Something so strong and stable. Real, and tangible. He remembered the warmth under his palm when he squeezed his thigh, and licked his lips.

Andrew uncorked the bottle, and turned his gaze back towards Steven. “You good?”

He nodded, silently, not trusting himself to speak.

“Quiet tonight, huh?”

“I guess.”

“You’re usually a chatty drunk.”

“Guess I need to get drunker then, huh?”

Andrew raised his eyebrow. “I guess.”

He poured Steven a glass, slowly, carefully. He was steady, strong as he held the wine bottle, veins raised on his hands. Downy, blond hair covered his arms, muscles moving under the skin. Steven couldn’t remember ever watching Andrew this closely before, considering ever curve and edge that made up his friend.

He took the cup and drained it immediately, holding it out for Andrew to pour more. He hadn’t let himself think about it before, had he? This — fascination, this (attraction, his mind supplied, unbidden and unwanted) thing, whatever it was, had always existed in an undercurrent. Every time he squeezed Andrew’s broad shoulders, pulled him into a hug, every graze of his fingers over Andrew or shoulder bump, it had this undercurrent of something Steven couldn’t begin to articulate, much less address.

His stomach sunk, and he stared into his cup, watching it fill once more. Had he been making Andrew… uncomfortable, this whole time? As uncomfortable as he was, even just  _ thinking _ about the way he’d acted towards him? Even thinking about it seemed to change things, in a way he didn’t know how to take back. He felt… predatory, almost.

But Andrew was sinking onto his bed, legs hanging over the edge, (thighs spreading in his jeans), taking slow sips of his wine, and Steven sunk into the armchair opposite.

“Steven.”

“Huh?” He tore his head up, looking directly at Andrew. “What’s up, buddy?” His voice wavered, just a little, just husky and small enough that it had to give away to Andrew that  _ something _ was wrong.

His eyes were focused onto Andrew’s face, but he wasn’t quite listening. No, his eyes were flitting from Andrew’s long eyelashes to his lips, still reddened from the wine earlier in the day, grin from minutes before dropped into a more solemn, quiet expression. Andrew was  _ beautiful _ . He knew that he was handsome, objectively — the kind of guy that girls liked, maybe not the kind that would end up on magazines, but that a mother would be happy to see her daughter bringing home.

If he was thinking about it, it had been a while since Andrew had mentioned a girl. He knew that he had broken up with his girlfriend a while ago, though he didn’t pry. Andrew was a person who needed his privacy. Steven wasn’t great at respecting that, but he did try.

“Steven, hey. Are you listening to me? Are you good?”

He startled, blinking at Andrew. “I’m good. Sorry. Long day, you know?”

Andrew snorted. “I’m aware. I was there too.”

“What’s up?”

“You know I’m bisexual, right?”

“...what?” There had been about a minute of silence between Andrew’s admission and Steven’s response — Andrew had been chewing on his lip, staring at him, and Steven had just been silent.

He was surprised; that much he knew. His stomach was swirling in a way he couldn’t begin to understand. Steven knew gay people — he knew lots of gay people; he worked at  _ Buzzfeed _ , for God’s sake. He had gay and lesbian and bisexual friends. He just hadn’t suspected Andrew would be one of them.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m bisexual. I’m attracted to men and women.” Andrew said it again, in an even, steady, careful tone. Measured — as though Steven was a frightened rabbit that would startle and run away at any moment. He sort of was, to be entirely fair.

It wasn’t that he was… rejecting the idea of Andrew being bi. It just didn’t fit into the framework of his idea of who Andrew was — masculine man, stiff, sometimes impersonal. Not like — not like any of the LGBT people he knew. And he knew it was all stereotypes he was leaning on, he knew anyone could be gay or whatever, it just didn’t seem to fit.

“You aren’t the first person I’m coming out to, if you’re wondering. I’ve been out since college, I guess. At least… dating men openly.” And then Steven was struck by a thought; one that made his stomach twist in an entirely different way: was Andrew telling him this because he had a boyfriend?

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t disgust, or anger. It was jealousy.

He was jealous.

He swallowed the thought as best he could, though it was threatening to come up, like bile in his throat. More than anything, Steven didn’t want to hurt Andrew. He’d had other people come out to him before, and he knew how important it was that others took it well, regardless of what they were dealing with themselves.

“I — uh. Thanks for — thanks for telling me, Andrew. Can I ask…”  _ Why _ hung on his lips, but he was completely unable to push it out. It was stuck. He was stuck.

“Why?” Andrew sighed, leaning back into the armchair. He took a deep drink of the wine, staring into the cup. “Today, in the van. You, uh. You grabbed my leg. My thigh.”

Steven swallowed, but didn’t speak. He didn’t know exactly where Andrew was going, but he could tell, already, that he probably wasn’t going to like it.

“And… I don’t know. Sometimes, in the way you act, it’s like. I don’t even know how to describe it other than  _ flirting _ . But then you pull back, with a stupid ‘no homo’ or whatever, and it’s like I can’t gauge where you are or what you’re thinking at all. Which is  _ insane _ , because you’re like the most open, readable book in the world. Seriously, sometimes it’s like you might as well tattoo what you’re thinking on your face, except that would be somehow less obvious than just reading your expression and listening to you. So I was thinking about it, and I don’t really know how to phrase this, but I was wondering…”

Steven parted his lips, and breathed out a “Yes?” so quiet he could barely hear it himself.

“Steven, do you, like, know? About gay people?”

He blanched. “I… What? Of course I know about gay people. What? Andrew, what does that even mean?” He couldn’t even begin to consider the idea that, on some level, he’d been unintentionally flirting with Andrew.

Andrew sighed again, and Steven frowned. He was getting tired of all this sighing — like Steven was some kind of idiot. “No, like. That came out wrong. I’m… sorry. I mean, more… like… do you know that you can be gay? Like, have you ever considered that you might not be straight? And I want to be clear that I’m not trying to, like, coerce you into a gay relationship with me or something — that’s not what I’m going for at  _ all _ .”

Steven nodded, slowly. Processing this whole absurd situation was making his mind melt, especially as drunk as he was — he’d never had a conversation this spectacularly bizarre before, and he’d had a lot of strange conversations with people.

“I just… I don’t know.” Andrew paused, looking away. He cleared his throat, and shifted in his seat. “You’re my best friend, Steven. I want you to be happy.”

In the entire series of events leading up to this moment — from the wine to now, yes, but also every moment in his life leading up to this… he’d never realized it was a question of happiness.

In other ways, though, he did — he knew that happiness should be pursued at all costs when he left his original field  _ for _ Buzzfeed, and it had turned out.

And when he thought about it, it made a lot of sense.

Intimacy with other men had always been a complicated question — always leaning in closer, closer,  _ closer _ until it was too close, and he had to pull back ferociously. In many ways, his ability to be close with other men, to hug them and be tactile and to love them openly, as long as it had a joking tone, was only made possible by the fundamental rejection of the idea of him being gay. But if that door was opened, too much would come flooding out.

And he’d always — looked at other guys. He had figured it was normal appreciation, or envy, even. When he stared at hot guys in the locker rooms in high school, he was jealous, right? Because they were handsome and fit and white and nobody called them  _ chink _ in the halls and girls wanted to date them and he was short and chubby and awkward and nerdy and everything girls didn’t want. And when he watched K-pop, it was out of appreciation, of course. The way their bodies moved, lithe and fluid, that was envy, because he’d never be able to be like that. It wasn’t — it was.

Huh.

“Hey, buddy. How are you doing?” Andrew asked, voice soft — distant yet intimate, all at once. Overwhelmingly so. “I know this is a lot to take in.” He breathed out, sipping his wine slowly. “I had a hard enough time, you know, coming to terms in high school.”

“I’m… I’m okay.” Steven said, slowly. And he was. He was okay. If he wasn’t, he would be, eventually. If he was gay, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. His friends would support him, undoubtedly — Jen would have an absolute  _ ball _ with New Gay Steven. And his parents, and his church — they were accepting, they would love him through anything. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurled a major curveball at them, and they handled it with grace. He was their darling son. He would be okay.

“Okay. Good.” Andrew sighed again. He was doing a lot of that. “You don’t need to, like, tell me anything you don’t want to. Now, or ever. But… I’m here if you need me, alright?”

Steven knew he was telling the absolute truth. Andrew was always there for him.

Andrew.

God.

This meant something for him and Andrew — he knew that much already. Something about their dynamic had shifted during the conversation. Something had changed, and he knew they couldn’t go back, but he didn’t think it was a bad thing. This was a good change.

Andrew, with his stupid puns and his level voice, low and soothing. Andrew, with his stupid hair that always stuck up when they were shooting and wouldn’t flatten until the cameras were off; with his warm sweaters and coarse hands and sweet, unexpected smiles. Andrew, who would never stop surprising him, be it with a ditty about salmon or an unexpected but always needed tender word. Andrew, who radiated strength and stability, who he could lean on on subways in cities two thousand miles away from home and know he was safe. Andrew, who wouldn’t even cheers food with him when they had started this thing together and initiated it every time, like he needed it.

Andrew.

Andrew, who he loved. Andrew, who he’d loved this whole time, without even realizing that love was what it could be. It was always him, wasn’t it?

“I know. I know you’re here.” Andrew, his foil. Andrew, his co-star. Andrew,  _ his _ .

A part of him couldn’t believe that this had all started with an accidental, drunken grope. But, knowing them, it couldn’t have started in any other way.

Steven had this issue where, when his mind was made, he didn’t look before he leapt. It was an issue, but at the same time, it wasn’t. He made his best choices, just going for it. Buzzfeed, he had just gone for it. Worth It, he had just gone for it. And this…

He would have to see, wouldn’t he?

He stood, slowly, steading himself on the chair’s arm. The wine was left abandoned on the table beside him as he moved towards Andrew. “I’m going to try something, okay?” Andrew sat in the chair, staring up at him, eyes wide. He licked his lips, slowly.

“Okay,” Andrew whispered back.

He leaned down, hovering over Andrew sitting on the bed. His hand slid down Andrew’s cheek, slender fingers grazing the curve of his jaw, nails scraping against his beard with a feather-touch. It was different. It was different than being around girls, than touching girls — soft skin, smooth and fuzzy, not like this. Not this coarse, not this rough, not these hard lines and sharp edges. Somehow, it felt more right than anything he’d ever done.

He leaned in, slowly, slowly enough for Andrew to turn away if he wanted to, to wrench himself out of Steven’s grasp and tell him to fuck off if he needed to, but he didn’t. He stayed there, still, staring up at Steven as his eyes fluttered shut and his lips pressed against his. They moved against each other, in a slow, easy tandem — Steven, explorational and new; Andrew, hesitant but familiar.

After a minute or so — a minute that felt like ten minutes but also no time at all — Andrew pulled back, and Steven straightened.

“Was that… alright?” Steven asked, voice lower than a whisper.

Andrew looked almost pained, staring up at him. There was something in his eyes — wide, moony, fond in a way Steven had never noticed before, but also something… scared. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

Steven’s whole body tensed. His first reaction to the implication that this was some kind of  _ game _ to Steven was anger — if Andrew thought that little of him, what kind of person was he? But after a beat, he realized: Andrew didn’t understand what kind of internal journey he’d been on, processing everything. He didn’t know how Steven felt. Steven hadn’t even said anything to him, not really. He’d just kissed him. And, from what little he knew, he knew that many friendships had been ruined before by this kind of — experimentation, non-committal, a cruel kind of dalliance that would become someone’s biggest missed mark and someone else’s biggest regret. Of course Andrew wouldn’t want that. Of course he’d be wary of being toyed with.

And, on top of that — there was the show. It was so important to both of them, and it wouldn’t be the same if they couldn’t work together — and if this went wrong, if this went downhill, if Steven kissed Andrew again (or went further, his brain offered) and regretted it, would they even be able to be in the same room together?

But it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like it did when he had resigned from his engineering job to work at Buzzfeed. It felt like it did when he pitched the show. It felt like it did, the first time Andrew sat in the passenger seat of his car on the way to a restaurant — it felt  _ right _ . It felt like things were as they should be, with his lips against Andrew’s.

He spoke, finally. “You aren’t a mistake. You couldn’t be.” He dipped down to kiss Andrew again, slowly, softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure about anything in my life.” He pulled back as Andrew snaked an arm around his waist, looking up at him. “Too much? Too fast?”

Andrew gripped him tighter, pulling him closer. His arms were just as strong, just as steadying as they looked. He wrapped one of his hands around Andrew’s, the one resting on his hip, and ran his thumb across the back of it. “God, this is so crazy. No. Not too fast. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. As long as you’re sure.”

Steven kissed him again — or, rather, he tried, but he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, and he smiled so wide against Andrew’s lips it was barely a kiss at all. “Crazy is what we do, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

Steven’s hands moved to Andrew’s shoulders, steadying himself as he moved to kneel on the bed, straddling Andrew. Andrew’s free hand tangled itself in Steven’s hair, and he pulled him close for another kiss.

“You taste like grapes and ethanol.”

“You taste like the essence of a rubber band.”

“Steven Lim, I fucking hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t. Not even a little.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to let me know what you think on tumblr at stephenkingatone! i'm bad at responding to comments here (even though i read all of them) but much better at replying to asks!


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